When you are freshly single you also want a fresh start. New sheets. New smell. New life.

There is no way better to do this than to go shopping.
There is no better place to go to than to a bookstore.

You can peruse every section all the while being inspired by books and covers and titles you stumble upon. Your next path in life.

"Maybe I'll take cooking classes somewhere." I say to my friend Michele while skimming through a cookbook section at the bookstore. Bright pages of food photographs make me think this is a good place to start. Learning how to cook as the new me.

"Yeah. No. It might be fun, but it's more fun to just eat."

My friend Michele, she's my party girl. The feel good friend. Beautiful, out-going, will never leave you behind. She will also tell you how it is.

"You should do something insane. You should just pack up everything and go to some exotic country where you can live with a tribe and just totally chill out. Michelle says to me as we turn down the foreign language aisle.

"Or, um, I could, you know, enjoy running water and just learn a language. How about Japanese!" I pick up a Japanese book set that screams that I can learn the language in two days with no problem.

"Eh, tribes and exotic countries make better stories." Michelle says as she starts paging through a French book.

I start to imagine a life that she suggests. Cashing in my life savings and giving up lattes and busy streets and debit cards and nights out until four in the morning. I imagine myself in some quiet savanna at night with crickets chirping, stars blinking and a soft warm wind blowing over my body. I would be lying on my back looking straight up to the stars and hearing nothing but moving grass.

I could even be that kind of writer. One of those writers that disappears for years and writes while gone. He comes back with a million different stories about skinning zebras or cleaning water for tribes that have been desperate. I would journal by candle light and sleep in a tent made by palm leaves. Every once in a while I could send a bit of mail back to the states where my mom and close friends would pass the news that I am doing well and enjoying the delicacy of insects for dinner.

For a moment is sounds so perfect. I can see myself boarding a plane and turning around waving to everyone from my life mouthing "I'll see you soon!". And as the plane would take off I would watch as Chicago's skyline would disintegrate in to a little model town, like a train set, and await what is ahead of me.

Some sort of new adventure. A fresh start to life.

"But, really, you can't do that." Michele says as we take the stairs down to the magazine section. "I would miss you too much. You're needed here."

We page through art magazines and then fashion magazines and then which ever magazine have the prettiest covers. And life goes on without crickets. Without any exotic tribes. Without any soft warm air. Without some adventure across the world.

Because I still have adventures waiting for me here or at least people who want me here. Plus, running away has never seemed to work for me in the past. I hate running away. It gives me blisters.

And, really, I'm not sure how long I really could live without a latte and good magazine. Really.